Fever Dreams
by The Melancholy Spirit
Summary: What might have happened if Halt and Crowley fell in love? Takes place before the regular series. K/T in the beginning, but M later on for slash *evil smirk*. Reviews would be greatly appreciated!
1. Prologue

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**  
>Reuploaded<br>The events happen way before the series, when Halt and Crowley are in their early twenties or so. Therefore I took somewhat of liberty in describing them.  
>And, this is my first try at writing a story of this type, so it will most likely suck xD<br>Warnings: Mature themes/sex will take place later. BoyxBoy, so... don't read unless you want to *smirk*  
>Disclaimers: I don't own Ranger's Apprentice or the characters.<br>Enjoy, hopefully =]  
>Oh, and italics indicate character thoughts.<p>

**Prologue**  
>Halt's eyes were uncharacteristically wide and concerned as he stared at the quivering, sweaty body on the bed. He turned to the healer, an older man with rapidly thinning hair and a forehead lined with wrinkles.<p>

"Will he make it?" Halt asked quietly.

The wrinkles on the healer's face appeared to deepen as he frowned. "I've told you, Halt. The fever is deeply rooted and shows no signs of going down yet. But Crowley is a strong young man, and he might pull through."

Halt sighed. He'd asked the question countless times that morning, but each time he had hoped the answer would change. Now he struggled to hold on to that hope. It seemed to be slipping beyond his grasp. Sympathetic, but unable to do anything else, the older man patted Halt's shoulder and left the room once more.

Halt knelt on the floor next to his friend's bed._ He might pull through. Might!  
><em>  
>Crowley's face, usually so jovial and glowing, was rash-red, and drops of perspiration beaded on his upper lip. He had stopped convulsing and now just lay there in a questionable state of conciousness, shivering periodically. Halt laid his hand gently on the other man's forehead. <em>My God, he's burning!<em> Crowley gave a sudden jerk, perhaps in reaction to the hand on his head, and an animal moan escaped his trembling lips.

Halt stroked his damp, sticky hair, whispering soft reassurance to his old friend. It pained him deeply to see Crowley in such discomfort, but the healer had refused Halt's request to even wash the sweat from the other Ranger's brow. The virus had to be burned away, he said.  
>It wasn't fair.<p>

Halt felt his eyes grow moist, but he did not care. He took Crowley's hand, wishing for some way to ease his pain. He was no healer, but he could see the terrible, ravaging affects the fever had on his friend. He had seen people in this condition before, and most of them did not survive.

But Halt couldn't imagine Crowley dying. Healthy, athletic young men like this could not be there one day and gone the next. It just didn't make sense, Halt told himself. He could not imagine never seeing Crowley's infectious smile again, never hearing the hearty laughter that sprang so easily from his throat, never having a companion he could trust to guard his back...

Certainly Halt was not one prone to strong emotion, and he certainly never showed it. But a seed of doubt and desperation was blooming in his mind.

_He'll never know how I feel about him...  
><em>  
>Halt leaned over Crowley, bringing his mouth close to his ear as he continued to stroke his fevered hand.<p>

"I love you, Crowley," he whispered, a single tear tracing down his tanned cheek.

"I love you. I love you..."


	2. Chapter 1

**A/N: **So, this chapter might sound all over the place, but... Crowley was sick, remember? (What an excellent excuse for my nonsensical ramblings ;D)

**Chapter 1**

A breath.

Crowley's eyes opened slowly. Blinking sluggishly to clear his vision, he saw that he was in a windowless room with unadorned stone walls. Flames crackled in a fireplace along one of the walls, casting a soft glow over the contents of the room.

Not that there was much in it, Crowley saw. The bed on which he lay had a antiquated-looking wooden footboard and was pushed into one corner. A matching, equally rustic chair and small table were in the opposite corner.

There was also a ragtag rug on the plank floor, and on it, wrapped in a bedroll, a figure slept.

_Halt_, thought Crowley, seeing the other Ranger's pack and boots piled on the floor nearby.

Halt.

And with that, something in Crowley's memory clicked.

Heat. He was drowning, helpless, in a boiling sea, vision fading as waves closed over his head... Burning. He was suffocating under a fire blanket while flames raged around him...

No. The fire had been inside him, searing his lungs so he could not breathe, searing his brain so he could not think...

And Halt... Halt standing over him with worry in his dark eyes. Eyes like deep pools, like relief- water! Halt, stroking his hair, holding his hand, pulling him back into reality while he teetered on the brink of that flaming hellhole. Halt, close and reassuring, his breath tickling Crowley's ear.

_What had he said?_ "I love you, Crowley..." He remembered. "I love you..."

Crowley drew a deep breath. Surely he had imagined those words. But somehow, he was positive he had heard them...

_Halt loves me?_

Halt was his dear friend and one of his oldest companions. They shared a close bond of course, almost like that of brothers. But Crowley had never before considered the possibility that they could be more than just friends.

And, for a moment, he dismissed the very thought with something of self-revulsion. He didn't like men. He couldn't love Halt, shouldn't...

But maybe- just maybe- he did.

Crowley latched on to the realisation, allowing it to stretch and grow in his fever-heightened mind. He thought back over all he and Halt had been through together. Companionship on the long rides through forest and glen, the unspoken, mutual comfort of having a wingman to depend upon, the laughter shared over a lively campfire at the day's end. But it went deeper that this.

Crowley thought how much he enjoyed Halt's rare smile, the warmth he felt when the other man looked at his with admiration in his eyes...

_Admiration? Or affection?_

These foreign ideas and emotions, combined with the after-effects of his illness, created a veritable bee's nest of activity in Crowley's mind. It was all so perplexing, so...

He wondered if he should get up, stretch his legs, let his nerves unwind. There was so much he had to think about. And so much he wanted to ask Halt... But how would he go about that, anyways? Suppose he _had _just dreamed this whole situation up? What if...?

Crowley blinked. He glanced over at Halt's slumbering form on the rug, barely two meters away, and then looked away almost as quickly, hit with a strange feeling of guilt.

_No matter_, he thought, though it did matter. After all, Halt was asleep and likely to be grumpier than usual if awoken. He could wait until morning.

Gradually, the contemplations roiling in Crowley's brain were subdued by sheer exhaustion, and he sank into a dreamless sleep.


End file.
